What is Heaven?
by Andromahke
Summary: Lancelot is daunted by the question "What is heaven?" and he must figure out what it means to him in his last weeks and days in service of Rome. R&R please!
1. Prologue: A Dream

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the knights or anything.

**A/N:** This is actually coming from my other story which had a few reviews called Loyalty Unmarred; well to avoid confusion I deleted that story and instead am re-posting it up (this time with a prologue). I'm doing revisions to the 1-3 chapters, but I'll have them up quickly! Please review and tell me what you like and don't like! This is just a prologue scene that'll make more scene in the sequel (yes! I already have a sequel planned!) So, I hope you like it, and remember to give me a review!

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**Prologue, A DREAM**

"_I had a dream," he whispered to himself, looking out of his window at Hadrian's Wall, "Like no other dream before."_

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"_How long shall we be gone?" a dark haired boy asked, and we all held our breath in wonder at what the Roman guard would say. I shivered at the wind that seemed to almost knock me off my horse; but I kept strong and hoped that no one had noticed me. I rolled my eyes at myself, not wanting to be already labeled as a weak knight._

"_Fifteen years," the Roman guard growled, turning his horse away from the boy as if it pained his eyes to look at him, "Not including the months it'll take to get to your post."_

_I moaned inwardly, not liking the reminder of how long I was going to be away from Sarmatia; I was young still but when I returned it was likely I would be a grown man, experienced from fighting yet hard and cold from so many years in service of Rome. That was if I even survived fifteen years, which I had begun to doubt for the past days, the months it would take to get to our post seemed daunting, but fifteen years! I didn't even want to think about it anymore._

"_Lancelot!" we all turned back, but the dark haired boy looked as if he was about to cry, as his village shouted, "Rus!" in unison to him; I felt myself smile. If not for the reminder that all us knights were Sarmatians, and we all missed home, I don't think I would be able to survive. The dark haired boy turned away, and the Roman guard motioned us to be on our way to the next village, of where we would get more companions. I wished I could just go home and sleep all day; I really wished I could._

_With one last glance toward the village, I felt a tear roll down my cheek, not just for myself, but for all my companions; but with a light heart I knew we would come to know another in the daunting fifteen years ahead of us. And if it came to it, I would even give my life to save one of them. _

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"_I had a dream," he whispered to himself, looking out his window at Hadrian's Wall, "Like no other dream before. I think…" he turned towards the door, where stood a tall knight, looking towards the other with a mocking smile, "You were in it."_

"_All men dream," the other knight said, turning to part from the door, and leaving the man to wander his thoughts alone. He turned toward the window, sighing to himself, trying to listen to the comforting advice, but it held no avail._

"_Not this dream," he whispered just barely, almost smiling to himself in self pity, "Not this dream."_


	2. Chapter 1: There Is No Heaven

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything... etc

**Meggles**: LOL! Yesh, that would totally give me inspiration XD Anyways, read this chapter and tell me what you think! I've worked really hard on it and I think it came out good.

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**Chapter 1, THERE IS NO HEAVEN**

Lancelot sat in the dark, watching the snow fall silently on the ground, his mind blank from thought. It had been a long few weeks, and still the threat of the Saxons behind them grew, making him at edge at every noise he heard around him. He didn't want to fight, not yet, not now; if not for the accursed Romans he would be on his way home, and finally be free. Instead of live, it seemed, Arthur offered them death that day of which was to be their last; he didn't want to die here. But, he vowed to follow Arthur, and he would never betray his trust, and never leave Arthur alone in battle… he just wished it wouldn't bring him to his death.

_I will die in battle, of that I am certain, and hopefully a battle of my choosing._

His own words echoed desperately in his mind, mirroring his deep thoughts and fears of dying. He had been in this life for fifteen years, as well as his companions; but he was so close now… so close to freedom. Arthur was a stubborn man, proud and fair, and yet never listened to the counsel of Lancelot, and for that Lancelot was tormented by need to prove himself to Arthur. Prove that he was worthy of freedom, worthy of being called a knight of the round table; worthy of being Arthur's friend and not just a companion in battle.

_I choose life and freedom for myself and the men!_

He reached to grasp his amulet, the one his sister had given him so many years ago before he left for Hadrian's Wall. He had worn it all these years, holding onto the hope that his family were still back in Sarmatia, waiting for him to return, as he promised. Little Bronwyn had to be peaking the age of twenty two! Lancelot shook his head, thinking of his little sister being a wife, and most likely a mother… ah! it almost was too much to think about, for he had left her at a ripe young girl of only seven years. His family was but a distant blur in his memory now, scenes of the many battles he had fought played over them instead.

He remembered the looks on their faces as vividly as the morning sun though, as he left that day to ride to his post. His mother… bearing proud tears as she cried onto his father's shoulder. Bronwyn, clasping to her mothers side and smiling at her older brother with a sense of pride; and his small brother, Brac, who was fated to follow in his brothers footsteps when he was old enough. He hadn't wanted to leave them behind, he didn't want to be the reason for his mother's tears, and as he had looked back to the village, _his _village, he had wanted to cry; for his mother, for his father, and for everything that he was leaving behind that he loved.

_Don't be afraid, I will return._

His promise to them… he could almost see their faces now, surprised at how much he had grown, almost strangers to him while he would stand in front of them awkwardly, wondering how it was he survived those years away. With weakening eyelids, he could feel sleep coming on, comforted by thoughts of home and brushed it away, fidgeting nervously on the ground.

"What was it like?" a woman's voice, clear and cool ripped him from his dark thoughts, and he turned to the tall and beautiful figure of Guinevere. She was wrapped in a light blue cloak, half smiling at him, as if she knew something he didn't. "Your home?"

She was darkly beautiful, and Lancelot could make out her every move in the bright moon light, from her tightening grip on her translucent shroud to the slight twitch of her lips, which formed into a smile as he examined her. A drastic change from the damsel they had rescued in the cell of Marius Honorius, now in his eyes she was a woman; not a damsel in need of rescue, simply a beautiful woman. But there was always a small doubt in his mind, which kept reminding him… she was a _Woad_.

_They are all Pagans here!_

He had wanted to jump off his horse and punch Marius as he said this, and he remembered putting his arm around Guinevere defensively, quickly thinking of her safety. Only thinking of her…

_So are we! _Galahad had said angrily, his mouth contorted in hate.

But for just one moment, none of that mattered, and he hadn't even known her name; it seemed to him that he had… no, it couldn't be.

He smiled confidently, standing up, "We sacrificed goats, drank their blood, danced naked around fires," he laughed happily at his joke, hearing his own laughter for the first time in weeks, until his gaze met Guinevere's. Her unchanging expression still smiled at him, not saying a word but neither letting down her steady gaze. He studied her face for a moment, not wanting to look away, and his smile became faint, and almost sad.

She watched him, searching his face, and an awkward silence grew as she stared at him under her unbreakable gaze. He realized with a sigh… she meant to make him talk, man to woman; she wanted to know more of him, and what made him as he was now. As beautiful as she was, he was almost frightened of her with her strong will… he had never met a woman he was intimidated by before. She was different, she got him, and Lancelot felt as if she knew every little thought that went on in his mind, as if she knew every bit of his soul and being. He shivered inwardly, and tried to remember all he could of a land he called home.

"What I do remember… home…" he said under his breath wistfully, looking up to smile at her, "Oceans of grass from horizon to horizon, further than you can ride. The sky… bigger than you can imagine…" he paused shaking his head, and whispered with a proud smile, "No boundaries."

Guinevere smirked, and walked closer toward him, wrapping her cloak more tightly as the wind blew her dark auburn hair back. She seemed content with his answer, but her expression didn't change much as she watched Lancelot with a cool eye. Visions of riding over the green ocean of grass invaded his memory, the fresh air under her nose, blowing his hair back; towering mountains in the far distance and rolling green hills under the hooves of his horse.

_There is a legend that fallen knights return as great horses. He has seen what awaits you, and he will protect you._

"Some people would call that freedom… that's what we fight for, our land our people," Lancelot looked away from her, for once not wanting to hear comforting words. He felt a stab of guilt as she continued talking, knowing he was one of the reasons for many of her people dying… Woads, "The right to choose our own destiny," Guinevere eyed him, half smiling, "So you see Lancelot, we are much alike, you and I."

_We are much alike, you and I._

Lancelot smiled, and nodded at her, his mind swarming with her image. Oh, she was different! She couldn't be a Woad, she was too beautiful, she knew him too well, and he was already too much attached to her. He spent years killing Woads without thought, but now he wondered if any of it was really necessary. Ah! But he couldn't be thinking about her at a time like this… he couldn't be getting his mind entangled into matters of love when they still had to return to Hadrian's Wall safely. Tristan warned Arthur that the Saxons were close by, not even half a days riding distance, which meant they all had to be on guard for any signs of a pursuit. The serfs of Marius were slow going, and the carts held many of the sick who were too weak to walk themselves. It was growing on Lancelot's mind more and more that it was a mistake to tarry with all of them, they weren't who they were sent to retrieve, and it was only burdening them to the point of being hunted down by the Saxon army.

_Are they worth dying for?_ Lancelot thought angrily… _This is Arthur's quest, not Rome's._

"And when you return home will take a wife? Have sons?" her voice made him return to reality, though they caught him by surprise, for he knew then that Guinevere would not be asking such a question without intentions of her own, intentions that he felt so strongly ever since he set eyes on her! He remained calm, and urged himself to say yes, that he would need a wife, that they could have sons together… but he heard himself say something very different.

"I've killed too many sons, what right do I have to my own?"

_Killed too many sons…_

"No family, no religion," Guinevere calmly said, though there was disappointment in her voice which sent a thrill through Lancelot's body, and she began to walk closer to Lancelot, stopping right before him, whispering, "Do you believe in anything at all?"

She lifted her hand to brush against his cheek, rough with stubble, and smiled. He watched her other hand do the same, carefully seducing him into a trance almost. Lifting his own hand, he brushed her shoulder, a faint smile appearing on his face… and then he looked into her eyes. Dark and deep wells of pain and longing, dark and beautiful as she herself was.

_Do you believe in anything at all?_

"I would've left you and the boy there to die…" he whispered to her, trying to make her understand. She shouldn't get involved with him, he had been in this lifestyle for so long he forgot what it felt like to actually care for a woman. Sure he had had his fair amount of maidens, but never a woman that could compare to the likeness of Guinevere, and what she meant to him.

But looking deep into her eyes, and feeling warmth finally reach his heart, and he watched as she closed her eyes, waiting for the kiss that he knew she knew she was to receive from him. He thought about the warm feeling that was spreading through him, and how he longed to take her small body into his large and strong embrace. He wanted to entwine his fingers with hers, and have her run her fingers through his hair; but he could no longer feel his arms, and he went lifeless in front of her, watching her breath out cold air into his face, waiting.

_This is heaven for me. _Guinevere had said, with a tired expression, drawing his in with her voice.

_I don't believe in heaven, I've been living in this hell,_ and he remembered with a soft smile of how he had wanted to reach out and hold her hand, or at least be closer to the woman who was sending shivers down his spine, _But if you represent what heaven is… then take me there._

"I believe in heaven," he whispered to her suddenly, her eyes half closed and half open, as she realized he wasn't going to submit to her seductive appeal, "I believe in heaven…"

"What is heaven?" she asked him quietly, wrapping her cloak more tightly around her, stepping slightly away from the knight. Lancelot grinned at her, not wanting her to move away yet for a moment everything seemed clear in his eyes.

"You are." he sighed.

She looked into his eyes with a cold expression, her eyes darting from his eyes to examine his whole face, but he still stood unmoved. He gathered enough strength to look away from her, he snow falling silently once more, making his heart cold in the bright night. Guinevere still stood unbearably close to him, shaking her head disbelief in defeat.

"There is no heaven," he cocked his head toward her, no longer smiling, and she gave him one last sad smile, "There is only hell."

She turned her back toward him, and walked away, not looking back as she disappeared into her carriage, where Lancelot could no longer see her. With a sigh of relief Lancelot turned from the direction she had left, and leaned himself against the tree, closing his eyes waiting for sleep to catch up to him again.

_There is only hell…_

"Lancelot?" his eyes fluttered open, and for a moment he thought it was Guinevere, coming back to rattle with his feelings once again. But he could see a dark figure in the woods some distance before him. It was Arthur.

"Lancelot?" he was standing not too far away from him, but Lancelot wondered if he had caught any of the conversation between him and Guinevere. He hoped not; he could feel his cheeks burning with the jests he would get from the knights if they heard of the late night appearance of Guinevere, and how he turned her down. He was legendary with women, the one the knights both envied and respected for charming women so easily; and the most beautiful woman any of them had ever seen… he had turned down. Lancelot sighed, and made his way toward his commander, sick with sudden regret.

"It is me, Arthur." Arthur nodded, putting Excalibur back into its scabbard. Lancelot stopped before him, his hand held out in a gesture of greeting. Arthur took it and sat back down against a large tree, leaving room for Lancelot to sit beside him. Snow coated the ground, and when Lancelot sat down, he could feel the warmth Guinevere brought him fade away, leaving him shivering in the darkness.

"God works in mysterious ways, Lancelot," Arthur sighed heavily, while Lancelot mirrored his sigh angrily, not wanting to hear of his God at a time like this. "If ever I believed it I believe that now."

"Why is that Arthur?" Lancelot replied sarcastically, only slightly interested, "As I said before you can pray to whomever you pray that we don't meet the Saxons, but if we continue on with all these people… Arthur," he paused, trying to control his anger, "We will have to fight!"

"What would you have me do Lancelot? Would you have me leave all these people behind to fend for themselves?" Arthur said calmly, only a hint of anger in his voice.

"Arthur…" Lancelot sighed, feeling himself calm down, "I don't want to die here. I don't want the men to die here."

Lancelot tried to put one his cocky smiles on for show, but found he could only smile sadly, wondering if Arthur would share his concern. Arthur just stared at him, his expression blank, though Lancelot could see in his eyes that he wasn't the only one with this fear, but it disappeared as quickly as Lancelot caught it.

"They won't die here." He said simply. Lancelot nodded hopelessly, either not believing or not wanting to believe Arthur, for he had convinced himself he was to die in battle. They sat in silence for moments, watching the snow fall silently onto the forest floor. Lancelot looked behind them, where he could see Gawain sitting against a tree, his head hung in sleep. Galahad sat next to him, fidgeting a lot more than his cousin but nonetheless sleeping. He suddenly envied the way they could fall asleep so quickly in such uncomfortable positions.

A soft crack of twigs to their left made both men jump, and look to a small figure, making her way into the woods. Arthur got up quickly, his hand on his sword hilt already.

_Guinevere…_

Lancelot watched as Arthur followed her, his heart sick with love and pain, and wonder at what Guinevere could want with Arthur; perhaps something he himself would not give to her.


	3. Chapter 2: Women Dream Too

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything...

**A/N**: This isn't the best chapter, I'm not completely satisfied with it, but I couldn't do anymore revisions to it or I would go crazy. Hope you like it, the next chapter will be a lot better!

**Galaha**: Thanks for reviewing! Yeah I like adding in little quotes here and there, it kind of makes them more meanigful it you repeat them twice (in my opinion). Here's the next chapter!

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**Chapter 2, WOMEN DREAM TOO**

Lancelot woke to a tree root sticking into his back, the usual price he paid for sleeping against a tree; and with it came the horrible day of riding which added to the pain. He stood up, and stretched, trying to get feeling back into his limbs, and perhaps less feeling in his back. It had been a long night, filled with hours, or what seemed like hours, of despair and hopeless thoughts; regret and unwilling to submit to his feelings for Guinevere. A most unusual night for him, for back at Hadrian's Wall a young maiden who shared his bed didn't even get the honor of crossing his mind the next day. He viewed it as a comfort to always have a woman's warm body under his arm, but nothing more to it than that. He may have felt loving feelings before, but if he couldn't remember them now, they couldn't have been very loving at all. Perhaps if he had he would have saved himself from the joy and despair that came with loving a woman.

_What is heaven?_ He thought with a frown, thinking of Guinevere's face as she realized he wasn't going to kiss her, feeling embarrassed to have opened up to her in such a way. But ah! Guinevere! _You are._

The snow hadn't ceased over the course of hours, it rather thickened in the sky, and it had matted over his body like a blanket during the course of the night. Brushing it off with cold fingers that had gone slightly numb, he yawned to himself, finally getting around to notice that he was seemingly alone in the small clearing. He could faintly see some of the carriages through the massive falling snow, but nothing more than that.

As if by reflex, his first move was to grasp his amulet, making sure it still rested safely by his neck, as if someone would have stolen it away from him during the night along with his hope. He believed very fiercely that the amulet had kept him alive, for more than a few times when he should have died he was saved… and he saw a vision of Bronwyn handing his the amulet when he was a young boy leaving for Briton.

_Lancelot! Lancelot! _He had looked onto the amulet as if it was nothing special, but hung it over his neck to see a smile lighten on his sister's face. And one did.

A few light horse steps made Lancelot turn, seeing Tristan just barely riding towards him, "Lancelot!" Tristan yelled, a crossbow grasped in his hand, pointing toward the sky. It was of the Saxons. "Where is Arthur?"

"The Saxons are close?" Lancelot began to panic again, just as he had begun the day before… "How many?"

Tristan bit his lip, and eyed Lancelot almost annoyed with him, but you never knew with Tristan, his thoughts were always unknown to the company; even after fifteen years of companionship, "An entire army… Lancelot, where is Arthur?"

"I do not know, I haven't seen him since last night," Lancelot sighed, and Tristan nodded, gripping the reins to his horse, about to ride away once more; but he stopped suddenly, looking at Lancelot with an unreadable smile.

"Where is Guinevere?" the question ripped through Lancelot, and he gasped as if he had been punched in the chest. _How did he know! _Tristan leaned toward Lancelot, biting his lip, his face bore no emotion, but in his eyes there seemed to be a light of wisdom, and it shone brightly with a smile, "Women dream too."

_Women dream too? _Tristan was known for giving such strange remarks, though this one baffled Lancelot completely. What did dreaming have to do with Guinevere? _Women dream too… _Tristan nodded toward his friend, straightening up on his horse, and rearing him to gallop back into the thicket of the forest. And as Tristan disappeared, a twig breaking behind him made him jump, and he turned quickly ready to draw his swords. _Women dream too…_

"Guinevere," he said with relief, taking his hands away from his swords, not daring to look her in the eyes, though he knew she was. A few moments of silence passed, before Lancelot couldn't bear it any longer, and he spoke, "I am sorry if I hurt you my lady."

He raised his eyes. She wasn't looking at him.

"I meant no harm to you nor to offend you," he said with sincerity, watching as Guinevere stood emotionless, and finally smile.

"What is heaven?" she said quietly, and Lancelot felt his heart warm once more.

A scream from the carriages brought Lancelot back to his senses; it was Lucan, the little Woad boy Dagonet had grown close to. Out of no where it seemed Guinevere pulled out a long wooden bow, striding quickly toward the sound of the scream, and Arthur behind her came charging through the woods. Lancelot shot Arthur a questioning look, though the commander just shrugged lightly, following after Guinevere quickly.

"I have the boy!" Lancelot could hear Marius shout, and he scowled with anger at the man. Romans. "Kill him now!"

"No don't, let him go!" Fulciana shouted at her husband, though a second later they burst through the snow covered trees, and Guinevere let loose an arrow aimed straight for Marius' heart. He fell with a gasp, the boy Lucan running with tears toward Dagonet… brave boy.

"Down!" Dagonet shouted to Lucan, grabbing his sword from the carriage, standing in position to fight the guards with a loud growl.

Lancelot walked up behind Guinevere, sporting one of his smirks, "Your hands seem to be better." He had his swords drawn, but seeing no more need of them he placed them behind his head to cross themselves, still smirking toward the Roman mercenaries.

Her expression didn't change from a glare, and she aimed another arrow, this time at the feet of the Roman guards, who shuffled their feet back nervously. Lancelot glanced at her, his smirk leaving his face for a moment; but from behind him came a loud yell of "Artorius!" by Bors, who rode up towards the mercenaries. His horse reared angrily behind him, as he questioned gruffly, "Do we have a problem?"

Arthur came up from behind Guinevere, holding Excalibur lightly in his hand, pointing it at the guards, "You have a choice. You help, or you die." Lancelot snickered at the choice, grinning down the mercenaries as they glanced at each other, fear inside of them. Lancelot admired how Arthur could intimidate people so easily.

"Put down your weapons," growled the head mercenary, and when the others didn't do as he commanded, he shouted almost in bewilderment or fright, "Do it now!"

"Here!" Dagonet growled, and Arthur motioned for Jols to pick up the discarded swords as the guards threw them down in defeat. The sound of hooves brought Tristan in, still with the large crossbow in his hand.

"How many did you kill?" Bors asked with a wide smile, getting the reply of, "Four." from the tracker. "Not a bad start to the day," Bors laughed obnoxiously.

Tristan rode up to Arthur, dropping the crossbow at Arthur's feet, "Armor piercing. They're close we have no time." Lancelot inched his way to hear Arthur's reply, hoping with a guilty conscious that he would finally take his advice and leave the serfs of Marius behind; the young boy Alecto was who they were charged to rescue, why not fulfill that mission with returning alive with the boy? _But, _Lancelot thought miserably, _Arthur never takes my advice…_

Arthur didn't hesitate a moment, simply replying to Tristan, "You ride ahead."

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The carriages made their way slowly through the woods, often getting caught by a patch of black ice, or a stray rock underneath the axels, which took both time and man power to get the wheel free. It was slow going, with the danger of tipping carriages and the ever growing beating drum of the Saxon army grew louder behind them. It was grim riding for Lancelot, for he had given up hope once again of getting to Hadrian's Wall alive; fifteen years of service for a land and people not of his own, fighting the enemies of his own personal enemy. The beating of the Saxon drum was like a clock, ticking off the hours and moments he had left to live.

Arthur stationed himself at the head of the company, Bors and Gawain riding on either side of the leading carriage. Tristan had ridden ahead at least an hour before, scouting as usual the best trail through the mountain pass. Lancelot found himself riding along the trail next to Galahad, the youngest knight of them all, who had lost his bright smile during the weeks of traveling they had already enduring, probably still fuming to himself that he could be on his way to Sarmatia, back home.

"I would be almost home by now," Galahad said somberly, and Lancelot smiled to himself, seeing he was right about his young friend still fuming. "See my father… mother…" he smiled for a moment, memories of years long past taking over his face; Lancelot rode unmoved, the smile weakening with trying not to be reminded of home, and he shivered at the slightest wind that blew past them.

"I miss it, Sarmatia," he remarked simply, looking to Lancelot for his word on the matter, but after a moment of silence he returned to watching the road ahead. "You, Lancelot?" he asked with a boyish grin, which Lancelot in turn returned.

"I don't remember well enough," he said calmly, thinking of his discussion with Guinevere the night before.

_Oceans of grass from horizon to horizon…_

"Once I'm there this will all be just a bad memory," Galahad said with distaste, "It's not in my blood, killing. I don't like it."

"And will you find yourself a young woman, Galahad? Have sons, daughters; tell them your tales of your service to Rome?" Lancelot asked finally, receiving an enthusiastic nod from Galahad, "A beautiful woman?"

Galahad laughed suddenly, shaking his head, "No no, my good sir, you for one shall not be welcome in my house," Lancelot grinned, knowing he would get his small joke; and a thought made its way into Lancelot's head… what did Galahad's future hold in store for him? Surely not a untimely death here in this wretched place, he deserved to be happy with a beautiful wife, many sons and daughters to make him proud, and a long life… he didn't think the same for himself.

"Once I get my papers…" Galahad said dreamily, smiling still, "I'm making my way home that same night."

_Home_, Lancelot though with a sad smile, knowing Galahad longed badly to be back in our home country, no matter what it held for him. _What home?_

"And who do you intend will ride with you? Or shall you venture out on your own?" Lancelot reasoned, and Galahad cocked his head toward him.

"You do not plan on going home?" Galahad asked, surprise in his voice as if he had figured out a big secret about Lancelot that had been bothering him awhile. Lancelot shook his head, whether for yes or no it didn't matter; he didn't plan on going home. He was going to die.

But at that moment, Gawain could be seen, riding towards them through the blinding snow, saving Lancelot from further discussion. Galahad smiled to see him, but as he caught up to them his face was grave, and Lancelot knew something was wrong.

"Ice, up ahead," Gawain gasped slightly, catching his breath, "We're riding forward."

Galahad shook his head gravely, making his way with Gawain towards the front of the carriage line. Lancelot watched them go, wondering to himself why he wasn't following them; something was holding him back.

"What tomorrow brings…" a soft voice behind him came through the snow and as Lancelot looked back, the figure of Guinevere appeared, a large fur blanket wrapped around herself, "We cannot know."

"Do you purposely mean to pain me?" Lancelot asked with a cheeky smile, and a suggesting shift of his eyebrows. Guinevere stared at him with a soft expression, her hand reaching out slowly, as if she meant for him to take it. Lancelot rode slowly by her carriage, holding out his own hand, daring to take her hand into his before the people surrounding them.

"I only mean to know you," she said quietly, her hand stopped right before reaching his, her smile seducing him. He could feel the heat of the night before return, flooding through his whole body, and she finally gripped for his hand. "Pain is love."

_Pain is love._

"Not if you do not love," Lancelot whispered, barely hearing himself say the desperate words, silently pleading with Guinevere to let go of his hand and never think of him again. Or perhaps he though that for himself, for the next moment he dropped her hand from his, and looked at the ground with a despair he had never felt before. He dared not look back at her for fear of what he would see; rearing his horse he turned to follow the path of Galahad and Gawain, feeling the heat of Guinevere's eyes on his back as he rode away into the thick white snow.

_Women dream too…_


	4. Chapter 3: Battle On Ice

A/N: Well, there hasn't been much interest in my story, but I'll keep posting up chapter if anyone stumbles across it. I love to get reviews. This chapter is in Galahad's POV, and the next chapter will switch to Lancelot's.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything... etc.

**Chapter 3, BATTLE ON ICE**

Galahad rode behind Gawain, forcing his horse to go as quickly as she could through the thickening snow. They had been in such grave positions before, but Arthur had charged them with the responsibility of all the lives of the serfs of Marius, who all proved to make their mark on the company by moving horribly slow; at least by Galahad's standards. But, he was a knight; this was his purpose in life… in these fifteen years that he had been serving Rome. He felt himself smiling widely despite all these facts; Lancelot always had some sort of way to cheer him up, and thinking about a family he would soon have was more exciting than he could bear. He wanted to hold up his first born son and claim him as his own, he wanted to have little daughters who could look up to him for protection; he wanted to pass his stories onto them, and be remembered. Most of all, he thought with a slight blush, he wanted a woman who could satisfy him at any time; a beautiful woman as Lancelot had said.

Gawain looked back suddenly at Galahad, his frown slightly quivering with a smile, "What could you possibly be thinking about at a time like this," Gawain marveled, almost laughing now, "that would make you blush?" Galahad smiled coyly, and brushed the cold snow from his face, willing his thoughts to disappear for the moment.

"Nothing," he said defensively, and Gawain nodded all knowingly, making Galahad flush even redder for he knew his cousin could read his thoughts right from him face. It was difficult for him to hide his feelings, he was as an open book compared to his companions! "Where is Lancelot?" changing the subject he sighed to himself with relief as Gawain stopped and looked backwards to the way they had come.

"Lancelot!" Gawain yelled, and just as he did Lancelot came emerging through the snow, his face flushed with tears. Galahad eyed Gawain with a grin; he wasn't the only one who was thinking of the pleasure of women, but then again Lancelot never had any trouble with women.

Gawain decided to ignore the fact that Lancelot had been seemingly crying, and just nodded, turning his horse back the other way. Lancelot shot Galahad a look that almost knocked him from his horse, _Do not ask, Galahad, do not ask or I shall cut your throat._

Turning his horse around quickly, Galahad decided that it wasn't the time for pestering his friend, and decide right he did for Lancelot looked even more wretched than ever, as if he would hold true to the look he shot. Galahad was usually the subject of the other knights laughing pleasure, or for this matter their anger, for he was the youngest of them, as well as the least experienced with hiding his thoughts and intensions. He supposed he should go to Tristan for advice about that.

They reached the lake before a minute had passed where Arthur, Bors, and Tristan stood; the three of them already throwing uncomfortable looks to each other. Lancelot had wiped away any evidence of his earlier tears, and now kicked his horse to stop next to Arthur's. Gawain shot Galahad an emotionless look, searching his cousin's face for fear; though Galahad looked away as quickly as he could, not wanting to be remembered as the only knight who feared to cross a lousy patch of ice.

"Is there any other way?" Arthur asked, turning to Tristan, who bit his lip.

"No. We have to cross the ice." Arthur nodded, and turned toward the rest of the knights, his face just as emotionless as Gawain's. "Get them all out of the carriages. Tell them to spread out."

Tristan nodded, and quickly made his way to the carriages, sending his black raven back into the sky to scout; Arthur jumped down from his horse and began leading him across the ice. Lancelot glanced over to Galahad, and following suit jumped off his horse, Galahad followed their example, as well as the other knights. They were barely a few steps onto the frozen lake a few minutes later when Tristan arrived once again, the carriages some ways behind them. The six of them stopped while their companion dismounted and joined them on the ice, and they waited for the carriages in an awkward silence. Bors and Dagonet were talking off to one side, and Bors laughed quietly, though Dagonet's expression didn't change; it usually never did. Galahad stood next to Gawain, who kept looking over him reassuringly; it began to get a little nerve-racking for the knight.

"I'm alright," Galahad said under his breath, mad at Gawain for thinking he was frightened; he could take care of himself. He had been in Rome's service just as long as Gawain, been fighting the same amount as him, and he had survived! And yet Gawain still couldn't accept him as being a good warrior; he wasn't a child… anymore.

"I didn't say you weren't," Gawain replied, smiling at his cousin, his face saying the very opposite of his words. Galahad just shook his head, accepting this answer for now; and finally the carriages and the peasants arrived at the frozen lake, their faces filled with masked fear as Galahad's was (though he would never admit it).

They carried on, stepping slowly and spreading themselves out so as to put less pressure on the ice; they had better chances of getting across that way. Their footsteps sent loud tremors through the ice, which creaked under their weight, though it didn't crack; Galahad held his breath just as well. Leading his horse carefully, though she shook her head away from his calming hand, as if sensing the future that the ice would break. The Saxon drum was loud enough to rattle Galahad's thoughts, and he could feel the angry tremor of the ice creak louder as it disturbed the cold air. Arthur stopped suddenly, and the knights looked at one another with a slight smile; it was time to fight, and face the bloody bastards. He turned around, facing the knights with a frown that was usually on his face; a slight smile appeared on his face.

"Knights?" Galahad took a quick glance at Gawain, who was already nodding in approval.

"Well I'm tired of running," Bors replied quickly, looking serious for the time being. He walked forward from his horse and replied with a semi-grin, "And these Saxons are so close behind, my ass is hurting."

Tristan shrugged, replying, "Never liked looking over my shoulder anyway." Dagonet smiled at him, agreeing in silent. It seemed they had all been thinking the same for awhile; it usually happened that way for they had spent most of their lives with one another.

"It'll be a pleasure to put an end to this racket," Gawain said with a nod, and he looked toward Galahad somberly. With a deep breath, he agreed and looked back at Arthur.

"And finally get a look at the bastards," his voice was more serious than ever, all the youth and joy sucked out of his breath by the cold and miserable surrounding. He felt himself clench his teeth, and looked toward Gawain for silent support.

"Here. Now." Dagonet smiled, and clasped his hand onto Bors' shoulder, who smiled, moving to get their weapons. Galahad watched as Lancelot shook his head, in a disapproving manner, though he began to get his weapons out just as quickly as the rest of them; his hands were shaking. Galahad followed behind Lancelot, knowing he might have some comforting words for him because he always did. If anyone besides Gawain was a shoulder to lean on, Galahad looked toward Lancelot immediately.

"You don't want to fight do you?" He asked loudly, in more of a statement than a question. Lancelot frowned deeper, squinting his eyes as he looked up towards the sky, grabbing his own bow and Galahad's. Galahad took it with a quiet thank you and began to walk away, seeing the other knight wasn't up for a talk.

"I do not want to die, Galahad." He stopped short, eyeing Lancelot with relieved eyes; finally someone expressed the same fear as he had. But Galahad smiled, taking his bow up and aiming across the lake, though he had no arrow to shoot.

"You won't." He said with more confidence than he really felt, surprising himself with his daring words. He was rewarded with a bright smile from Lancelot, and he nodded his head, walking toward where Gawain stood, aiming for an invisible target on the other side of the lake. Lancelot followed behind him, raising an eyebrow as he watched Guinevere walk away from her carriage, straight toward the knights and where Arthur stood talking with the peasant Ganis.

"But your seven against two hundred," Ganis pointed out with hope, giving the argument with Arthur all he had just so he would be allowed to stay and fight. Guinevere smiled to herself, and raised her eyebrow to Arthur.

"Eight," confidently, she eyed Arthur seductively; "You could use another bow." She walked straight toward Lancelot, standing in between him and Galahad. Lancelot grinned to Galahad, as if to say, _She's fighting? _And Galahad laughed, though he didn't find it too funny. Guinevere caught Galahad's eye, and he stopped smiling instantly, feeling himself almost stop breathing.

"You are Galahad are you not?" she asked, turning herself completely from Lancelot, and moving closer to the young knight, making him even more uncomfortable. He could feel himself blushing, _Dammit! Any woman but her… _He laughed nervously, focusing his eyes on across the ice, hoping she wasn't watching his too closely; and he simply nodded.

"I hear you are a great warrior, with the bow," Galahad blushed even harder, nodding, "I admire you for that."

She smiled, _Damn her smile! _Galahad thought to himself, wondering how quickly it took him to fall for a woman; for he could certainly see Guinevere in a different light now. She turned away from him, and he sighed to himself, feeling the heat of his lower half cool down, though his face didn't.

The beating of the drums continued to grow louder, until finally they were so loud Galahad was waiting for any moment when they would barge through the thick snow. He held his bow tightly, marveling that it wasn't breaking, and felt himself shiver. Looking to Gawain, who stood still and unmoved by the cold, he willed himself to do the same; perhaps he would feel manlier that way.

"Hold until I give the command," Arthur said, just as a first few stray Saxons began emerging. Galahad sucked in a mouthful of blinding cold air, making him cough.

"You look frightened," Lancelot said to Guinevere, regaining his speaking terms to her and possibly knocking Galahad out of her thoughts. He sighed, and said suggestively, "There's a large number of lonely men out there."

Guinevere smiled with a glare across the ice, rolling her eyes slightly, "Don't worry, I won't let them rape you."

Galahad felt himself snort, not able to control his laughter; the image of Lancelot getting raped by a Saxon man… he stopped suddenly, shaking his head to get the image out of his mind. Guinevere smiled softly at him, and turned her eyes back to the emerging Saxon army, who stood dumbfounded by the large frozen lake. A Saxon archer stood in front of the rest and he shot an arrow high into the sky, but it held no avail. It landed some halfway from the knights, and skidded against the ice.

"I believe they're waiting for an invitation. Bors, Tristan." Arthur said as the two men both raised their bows high into the air, ready to fire. Guinevere stepped forward, almost angrily lowered her bow.

"They're far out of range." The men let the arrows go, and quickly they found their targets, and five Saxon soldiers fell lifeless onto the ice. Arthur raised his eyebrow to Guinevere, who glared at him, taking her place back between the two knights. Galahad grabbed an arrow, placing it in his bow, and waiting for another command from Arthur; the Saxons began to move closer.

"Aim for the wings of the ranks, make them cluster." They all aimed toward the right flank first, watching the arrows hit their targets and the men falling to the ground. The remaining men clustered toward to the middle of the pack, as they aimed for the left flank, more men falling. A larger man in the front of the army was pacing from left to right, yelling for his men to hold the ranks; though it wasn't working. They marched closer, until finally it was clear to the knights that the ice wasn't going to crack. Guinevere started to back up, firing another arrow for spite and watched it sore through the sky.

"It's not going to crack. Fall back! Fall back!" he drew out Excalibur in fury, eyeing the approaching army with bitter hate, but he was confident, "Prepare for combat!"

Galahad moaned inwardly, shooting off as many arrows as he could at a time, making sure not to loose his head in despair and keep his eye on his targets. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dagonet run from them, wielding his axe in his hand and yelling with a mad fury in his voice.

"Dag!" Bors cried with surprise, shooting off a few more arrows at the oncoming archers.

"Cover him!" Arthur quickly picked up his bow, and they continued to knock off the Saxon archers. Galahad let off an arrow with a fierce cry, feeling all his emotions rise into his fingers as he let the arrow go; Dagonet was risking his life for theirs. Arrows passed by Dagonet, never striking him and he continued to belt his anger into the ice, sending large tremors through the lake.

Galahad reached down quickly for another arrow, looking quickly to see his most worthy subject to kill. And then it hit him… _Dag!_ He watched in horror as an archer let loose a deadly arrow, letting his own off at the same time as the Saxon's… but it didn't matter. Dagonet was wounded, and he fell with a yell onto the icy floor. _I didn't fire in time…_

"Dag!" Bors cried out with tears forming in his eyes, but Dagonet got up just as quickly as he fell, hacking with more brute strength into the ice. He was struck with two more arrows before the ice finally gave and split toward the Saxon army. Arthur rushed forward, getting to Dagonet just in time to pull him out of a watery grave. Bors watched in horror, and grabbing his shield his rushed forward, screaming, "Dag!"

Another large tremor went through the ice, this time almost knocking the knights off their feet; Lancelot watched in horror as arrows charged toward Arthur and Bors, "Pull back! Arthur!"

Everything was happening so quickly, and Galahad could hear his screams as he let go of each arrow, tears streaming down his face violently as he watched the crumbled body of Dagonet, and his companions dragging him to safety towards the rest of them. It was his fault, he saw the man, he could have let go of his arrow in time, in time to save him! But no… Dagonet was dying, and it was all his fault.

"Help us!" Bors yelled, trying fiercely to shield himself and Arthur, and keep Dagonet conscious. Gawain and Tristan rushed forward, just as Galahad let another arrow go, his vision blurred with incontrollable tears. He could vaguely make out Guinevere beside him, firing off arrows just as deftly as he, her posture remaining strong and fearless.

Bors pulled the dying body of Dagonet into his lap, crying to the man, "Dagonet! Stay with me!" his voice croaked with tears, as Dagonet's eyes iced over with death, "Dagonet! Stay… with me!"

Galahad dropped his hands to his side with a sigh, looking down to his brothers in arms, who were all silently struck with grief, except Bors, who cried openly for his lost friend. Guinevere glared across the ice, deathly white, and fired one last arrow.


	5. Chapter 4: Death of a Knight

Well, I've finally got an update written for all of you! Thanks for everyone who reviewed, it really means a lot. I've started the next chapter, but knowing me it'll take a bit before I've got it good enough to post up. So don't expect a new chapter too soon, sorry! This chapter is just kind of one of those... you had to write it kind of chapters, where I was inbetween writers block and everything, so please bare with me! I'll make sure the next chapter is better!

The Voice Within: Thanks so much for reading! I still have to read all of your story, but I'm getting to it, don't worry! And actually, I kind of go from the movie... so everything doesn't come from my head, lol. So a lot of the lines in my story are from the movie, such as the heaven ones, and like... I think basically the whole conversation between Guinevere and Lancelot, but not all of it! You should rent the movie and watch it, it's very good; although slightly disappointing... because I saw the movie right after I read The Mists of Avalon. Anyways, (I could type forever) Thanks for reading, and I'll review your story soon!

Keelin: Thanks for reading! I try to make it as interesting as possible, for myself as well as all the readers ;) I hope you like this chapter!

dw: Thanks for reviewing, and I know exactly what you mean; I read a lot of the stories here but then just can't always bring myself to review, I very much blame my laziness. But thanks for reading! Galahad is one of my favorite characters, so I had to stick him in the story, hehe.

Okay! Enough of my ramblings... here it is!

**Chapter 4, Death of A Knight**

"_Dag!" I yelled, my head snapping in horror as Dagonet went down, a slash to the side without even so much as a yell. I ran as fast as I could, my breath as heavy as ever, my legs feeling as bricks; and I faced myself with Dagonet's opponent. He grinned as me, a grin that made my blood run cold for a moment, pointing his sword toward my chest. Everything surrounding us disappeared, and I saw only his face, only his flesh, only what I could kill._

_I shifted my feet, circling around him, as he did the same; my teeth gritted tightly, my hands clasping my two swords, ready to lunge at the man. He yelled something at me in his own crude language, and charged toward, his axe heading straight toward my chest. Instantly, my hands by reflect stopped the axe, pushing him away with the little bit of strength I had left. My breath was even louder in my head, and my heart beat echoed constantly, over powering the sounds of battle surrounding me._

_The Woad laughed, mocking me, before rushing toward me once again, his axe almost overpowering my blades. We were locked by our own weapons, and I couldn't beat him… I couldn't…_

"_Lancelot!" my head snapped back, where another Woad was rushing toward me, a large axe in his hand. He stopped short, and fell by my feet, a large arrow stuck through his back. The other Woad had taken advantage of my sudden distraction, and I felt an excruciating pain siege me from my thigh, a large gash already oozing blood without forgiveness. I yelled out, not knowing if it was in fear or fury, or the pain that exploded in my leg, but I rushed toward the man, knocking us both to the ground. In a moment he had me pinned beneath him, but the next thing I remember was finding his weakness, and stabbing one of my blades into his exposed skin near his stomach. He collapsed onto me, his eyes clouded over, expression of shock on his face._

_I felt no pity. I felt nothing._

_Galahad jumped off his horse, rushing forward to help me stand, and he pushed the dead body off of me as if it was nothing; he was growing colder these years. I grabbed onto his hand, and clasped his arm, leaning on him for support. He smiled at me slowly, patting me on the shoulder before turning away to shoot down more Woads, taking no pause or risk with time._

_I sighed, until my eyes fell on the fallen body of Dagonet, and instantly I rushed toward the giant, dragging myself, wincing from the pain that seeped from my leg._

"_Dag!" I yelled, throwing myself on the ground next to the large man, only to see a large wound to the head, blood seeping from it with no cease. "Dag…"_

_Angrily, I struck my sword into the soft earth, submitting to tears this one time; we were loosing another knight, another great warrior, another friend. And I couldn't handle it, Dagonet was one of the best men I knew, how should it be that he should die now, when we had been through so much together?_

"_Lancelot! Dagonet!" it was Bors, he came up riding swiftly, only to stop and jump off his horse quickly to fall by the fallen knights' side. "Dagonet?"_

_Bors looked up at met, his face filled with grief and question, but I could only shake my head, wiping away blood stained tears with grimy hands, hands that had killed so many in such a small span of time, and yet hands that failed to save a friend in time. But in an instant, the whole world seemed brighter, and the sun shined down on us for a moment._

"_Dag!" Bors said cheerfully, lifting up his friend as the man coughed, his rough hand reaching instantly toward the gash in his head, his face showing no pain, as usual. I sighed, picking myself off the ground, sick with relief._

_It wasn't the same; there was no light that shone down on us from the sky, nothing to comfort us as we knew the task of burying another one of our own was upon us once again, there was nothing. It wasn't the same, not this time._

_Not this time._

"Lancelot," Arthur called, drawing him from his memories, and Lancelot turned to see Arthur and Gawain struggling with the body of Dagonet; trying to heave the dead body over his stricken horse. The black stallion refused stubbornly, neighing loudly each time the men walked toward him, for he understood what they carried so solemnly. Lancelot quickly bounded over, keeping careful to look away from Dagonet's face, which was frozen cold and pale, though Arthur had closed his eyelids as a sign of death. But he couldn't bear it; death, especially when it was a knight. He marveled how he could kill so many without thought, and yet when one of his own was cut down, he couldn't believe the sight, he couldn't watch death come over ones he loved. Hundreds of men he had killed, brothers, sons, lovers, fathers; it was countless, and yet he felt no emotion but hate while his two swords stained blood onto the earth.

After minutes of coaxing the poor stallion, they finally managed to secure Dagonet's body onto his back, and Guinevere rushed over with cloak to lay over him. Gawain nodded solemnly at Lancelot, before walking away toward his own horse, and Arthur as well patted Lancelot's shoulder, before turning away. Guinevere stood in front of Lancelot, her slim figure shaking slightly in the cold surrounding them. Lancelot took a step closer to her, and closed his eyes tightly, daring to place his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. She jumped at the touch, turning to stare at him, and he was surprised to see tears forming in her dark eyes, giving off a light of her that he had never seen before.

"Lucan will be devastated," she said calmly, her eyes searching his with deep emotion, "I won't know what to say to him."

"_Don't you scare us like that again," I scolded Dagonet, who laughed heartily despite his wound. Vanora had tended to him all night, and when we were finally allowed to see him, we found him in good shape with a large bandage strapped across his head. He was even smiling for a change._

"_Ai!" laughed Galahad, "I think Bors almost cried!"_

_Instantly Bors reacted, punching the youngest knight rightfully hard in the stomach, and he went down with a small yell. We all surged with laughter, as if we all had spent the night getting quite drunk, dealing with the worry over Dagonet by draining ourselves in ale; which wasn't too far from the truth. Galahad held his stomach painfully on the ground, though his laughter could be heard just as loud out as the rest of the knights. Gawain held out a helping hand for him, and he took it quickly, wiping off his tunic out of embarrassment. We laughed even harder, and Galahad flushed a brighter color of pink._

"_Knights," I turned around quickly, the laughter subsiding quickly, and there stood Arthur, a small smile on his lips. "Each one of you today fought well, and earned this honor. Dagonet, are you feeling well?"_

_Dagonet nodded gravely, a sudden change in the atmosphere in the room made the laughter that was just previously loud and joyous sound silly and too loud for my ears. It was silent, and Arthur mirrored Dagonet's nod, looking in turn to each of us, before leaving abruptly. We all looked around at one another, solemn and sad almost, before Bors cleared his throat loudly._

"_Get some rest Dag," he said gruffly, leaving the room, as the other knights followed him, leaving me the last in the room._

"_Dag," I stopped at the doorway, and Dagonet turned his head to me lazily, "I meant what I said, don't you do that to me again." Dag smiled, and I returned one, before leaving him to his recovery._

Lancelot watched Guinevere helplessly, not knowing what to say to her, but he had not thought of all the others who waited anxiously for them at the wall. Dagonet had always been a large part of the life at the wall, strong and hard, and whenever he spoke it was the most important thing, and they all listened. His voice was more commanding than even Arthur's, for he only spoke when it was worth the breath, and when the words meant something strong.

"Dagonet was the closest thing he had…" Guinevere sighed, as a tear slipped down her cheek, glimmering as it froze slightly from the cold, and she paused for a long moment, as if regaining her thoughts, "to a father."

She waited to hear him speak, and when it was clear he wasn't she looked away, regretting she had ever said anything. It seemed to her that Lancelot would never be ready to open himself to her, and she wasn't going to wait around for it. He watched her just as anxiously, watching his breath appear in front of him in the cold air, although for some reason he felt as if he wasn't breathing, and everything went dream-like again.

"_Ready?" I strode toward my horse, stopping to pat his head a moment before jumping up on him. Dagonet nodded, and continued sharpening his sword, carefully and slowly, concentrated. It was only a week after his almost fatal injury, but he couldn't be held from missions for too long; we needed him, and he needed us. It had been at least ten years into their service to Rome, so they years still daunted me terribly, but I went along quietly enough, doing what I did best; killing. I didn't, I couldn't, believe in anything that I couldn't physically kill, anything that put a man on his knees._

_Galahad and Gawain followed behind me, both nodded in greeting toward us._

"_I can't wait to leave this island," Gawain said with a shake of his head, as he started to saddle up his horse. I nodded in agreement, as Gawain continued, "If it's not raining, it's snowing, and if it's not snowing, it's foggy."_

"_And that's summer," I said thoughtfully, earning a chuckle from Gawain and a smile from Galahad, though Dagonet stayed quiet. All that could be heard was his constant and continuous sharpening the rest of us fell silent._

"_So much for home though," Gawain commented slowly, "I've been in this life too long."_

"_Aye," Dagonet's voice rose loudly, causing the three of us to stare at him in wonder, as we always did when he spoke. Dagonet nodded his head, as his eyes wandered off as if in memory rather than in the present time. "Me too."_

"We should return to the Knights," she said slowly, gathering up her voice and trying to hide her tears that lay sheltered on in her eyes. Lancelot marveled to himself; she had never seemed so beautiful in his eyes, perhaps it was his love for damsels in distress, but he could feel his voice returning to him, perhaps even his old wit the women seemed to love of him.

"Or maybe we shouldn't," he replied somewhat stubbornly, as Guinevere eyed him sharply; he instantly regretted ever opening his mouth, but there was nothing to be done about it now. "Arthur will want to be moving on now."

She nodded, liking this response better, wrapping herself tighter in her cloak. Lancelot hung his head in respect, but she stopped in front of him, her eyes searching his with a small glimmer that made Lancelot nervous under her gaze. He waited for her to speak.

"We cannot mourn forever," she said thoughtfully, her frown deepening in concentration, "And I know that Dagonet wouldn't want his brothers to be taken from their freedom."

She walked closer to him, so her chest almost crushed against his, and she reached out to hold up his chin to face her. Her eyes had grown colder, and the tears that she had just moments before been shedding were gone without evidence. Her voice ripped through him, as she commanded with force, "Go home."

"_First thing I will do when I get home is find myself a beautiful Sarmatian woman to wed," Gawain remarked with a smile, as I rode behind him and Bors. Tristan rode beside me, uninterested in all conversation, but kept his eyes up to the sky, searching for his hawk._

"_A beautiful Sarmatian woman?" Bors found this comment funny, and I knew he had a remark to rebut the fair haired knight, and how true I was, "Why do you think we left in the first place?" he mooed loudly, and continued to laugh, with Gawain laughing by his side._

"_And what about you Lancelot? What are your plans for home?" Bors asked me as I rode up beside him and Gawain, both of them eyeing me curiously. I confessed to myself that I had been thinking a lot about home the last year or so, but now that our last day was here, I really didn't know what to do with myself. Even the word sounded strange to my word, for we had only the meaning that was left in our memories, who knew now how much that image had changed these long years. I winced just for a moment, feeling my companions' eyes on me. I quickly put on a sly smile and nodded at Gawain._

"_Well, if this woman of Gawain's is as beautiful as he claims, I except to be spending a lot of time at Gawain's house," Bors laughed openly, looking at Gawain with a grin. Gawain nodded at me with a disbelieving look, he took my jokes very well. "His wife will welcome the company," I assured Bors._

"_I see," Gawain replied, staring off away from me, as if imagining the scene in his head, "and what will I be doing?"_

"_Wondering at your good fortune that all your children look like me," I said simply, while Bors roared with laughter, and I kicked my horse to ride up next to Arthur. Gawain wouldn't go down that easy, and retorted with a small humorless laugh._

"_Is that before or after I hit you with my axe?"_

Home.

We're going_ home_.

He could barely breathe under her steady gaze, her hand never letting up to leave; they just stood there, neither knew how long, surveying the other with mournful eyes. And Lancelot knew at that moment that this was not meant to be, not them, she was destined for another. But who, for who he would never forgive himself. Her fingers gently caressed his face, tracing the lines in his face, her chocolate brown eyes watching her own fingers, as he watched her.

_Go home._

And in a moment it was over, Guinevere was hurrying away from him, her hand being received by Arthur himself to help her into her carriage. And she looked at him no more.

He gruffly pulled himself away from where he was standing, walking slowly to where his horse stood, and neighed nervously as Lancelot almost angrily glared at the horse. Quickly his anger subsided into affection, and he assured the beast calmly under his breath before climbing onto his back swiftly. Galahad rode up beside him, nodding grimly in greeting, his frown deeper than any of the six companions; he was still too young for this.

_Go home._

_Home._


End file.
